Blame it all on my roots

Sue Clark

The Prince of Peace Church in Costa Mesa is having a ficus tree

problem, with talk of tearing down the trees. When I read the news, I

thought of the good side of ficus tree problems. The church folks got

to meet their neighbors.

So did I, and not in a good way. In 1995, I found a beautiful,

ficus-lined street in Newport Heights and bought a house there. I was

enamored with the house, the street and the huge ficus tree on my

curbside. Love is blind. I felt lucky to have the biggest tree on the

block.

When you are in a relationship, some of the things you find so

endearing at first eventually turn out to be grindingly irritating.

You should also pay close attention to the things others notice about

your beloved.

The big, gruff man that does my yard work took one look at the

tree and muttered an expletive. “Get rid of that sucker,” he pointed

to my tree.

“But it’s so beautiful.” I was shocked.

“Look at your driveway. See those cracks?” he pointed to my bumpy

concrete. “There’s a lawsuit waiting to happen. You can thank your

tree.”

Deep in my denial, I ignored him. Until the first fruit drop of

the year.

For those of you who don’t own a ficus tree, the fruit drop is a

thrice-yearly phenomenon where the ficus tree rains down squashy

fruit the size of grapes on steroids. It sticks to the street, the

driveway, and, most charmingly, the tires and underbellies of any

cars that drive on it. More specifically, mine, and more

specifically, any cars driving down my street.

I tried to sweep it up every day. I pretended it was developing my

triceps for skiing. Alas, I remained a weak skier, and the fruit drop

assault was unstinting. It lasted for three weeks or so. My neighbors

on the right got the fruit on their driveway; they were elderly, so I

tried to keep their driveway clean, too.

Meanwhile, my plumbing started to clog up. The plumber took one

look at the ficus tree and bowed to it. “Thank you for my Riviera

cruise,” he told it. When he had finished clearing the drain, he

showed me the roots. “I had to do this three times,” he said, “so I

charged extra.” He strolled off whistling to his truck and called

back, “See you next month.”

I called the city. A tree man there, very high up (no pun

intended), intoned, “You are experiencing fruit drop.” He also

explained that ficus roots run long and deep and tended to clog up my

plumbing. I was impressed with the branches of tree knowledge he had

mastered.

“Will you remove it?” I was over the ficus relationship. I needed

to move on.

“You have to prove it’s on our property.” He sent a city lawyer to

decide this, and the city reluctantly admitted it was their tree.

I blithely made plans to have it taken out. I figured the

neighbors would appreciate no more fruit drop. My elderly couple was

thrilled. They told me the tree was hurting their drains, too.

The tree removers appeared, and started to set up their equipment.

My 11 year-old ran into the bathroom, where I was taking a shower and

said, “Mom, there are a bunch of people standing around the tree.”

I went out to meet my new neighbors. They were pretty much hugging

the tree.

“Why didn’t you ask our permission? This is a beautiful tree. It

helps the property value of the street.”

I had never seen a hate stare before, but one of the women gave me

one. There was some confusion, as the neighbors thought I was

renting. Once all of the facts came out, including a neighbor who

offered to pay my plumbing bills, I caved.

“The tree stays,” I said. I nagged the city into putting a

polyethylene shield around the roots, and got them to pay one-half of

my new driveway. It took years before I got to know my neighbors as

friends. The neighbor never came through with the plumbing money,

though.

I was known on the street as That Lady That Almost Cut Down the

Tree.

As the years went on, I realized that the tree was indeed

beautiful. And when I sell my house, the tree does add to the street

appeal. I also found out that some of my neighbors had in the past

secretly pulled their ficuses out during the night. The secrets a

quiet street conceals.

I have come to terms with clogged drains. I try to sweep up the

fruit drop, but I’m more nonchalant about it now. If the neighbors

drive through some of it, so be it. Come on over and help me sweep.

We can get to know each other.

I’m planning to retire fairly soon, and I know this house will

sell fast when I put it on the market. The only problem will be how

to market it during the small spaces between fruit drop.

* SUE CLARK is a Newport Beach resident and a high school guidance

counselor at Creekside High School in Irvine.